When Camp 2 Burned Down: The Story of Green Climbers Home

The Day Before Opening

We had spent the last six weeks renovating Camp 2. The season was about to start. The restaurant was ready, and for the first time in weeks all our staff had a day off. The first guests would arrive tomorrow.

I was sitting in the Camp 1 restaurant eating dinner when I noticed a group of guests gathering at the edge of the terrace. They were looking out into the valley and discussing something. I overheard the words "burning season." Knowing the history of the camp, I got up to have a look. A big column of black smoke was rising into the sky.

I immediately knew it wasn't burning season. It was our restaurant. I started running barefoot towards Camp 2. It's only about 500 meters away, but the vegetation blocks the view. As I ran, I kept hoping I was wrong. Maybe it was a nearby field. Maybe a farmer was burning something.

Time seemed to slow down. It's strange what your brain focuses on in moments like that. I wondered why my feet didn't hurt running barefoot.Then Arjan appeared next to me.

He was faster than me. Somehow that became the only thing I could think about.

Why is he faster?

He cares more about the camp than I do.

I have to catch up.

My thoughts shifted completely. I stopped looking at the smoke. I stopped looking at the fire. All I could see was Arjan running in front of me.

I have to catch up.

Then Arjan suddenly stopped. Finally, I caught up and kept running.

That's when he started screaming.

"No! Stop!"

The motorbike had caught fire. A split second later the gas bottles shot through the roof and landed somewhere behind us, starting another fire. The restaurant was a giant fireball.

Trying To Save What's Left

The season hadn't even started yet.

Years of savings, equipment, tools, supplies, everything inside the building.

Gone.

I didn't know what to do anymore. I dropped to my knees and started crying.

Adrian yelled at me.

"Get the fire extinguishers. Save the bungalows."

That snapped me back into reality.

There was no saving the restaurant. But maybe we could stop the fire from spreading.

I grabbed the first extinguisher and ran towards the nearest flames creeping through the dry grass towards the bungalows.

More people started arriving: guests, volunteers, and locals from the village.

Nobody waited for instructions. People just started doing what needed to be done. Buckets appeared. People formed lines to the river. Others connected hoses to our water tower.

About twenty minutes later there wasn't much left of the restaurant except a burning skeleton. The fire was mostly under control.

Then another thought hit me.

Was somebody inside?

During the rainy season, one of our Lao staff members, Gai, lived in the restaurant with his wife and two children.

I started shouting.

"Where is Gai?"

Nobody knew.

For several minutes I couldn't find them. Then someone told me they had gone to town earlier that day.

Nobody had been inside.

Nobody was hurt.

I don't know if I have ever felt more relieved.

About two hours later the firefighters arrived. In typical Lao fashion, some of them were wearing flip-flops.

They emptied a full tank of water onto what used to be our restaurant. It wasn't enough.

For the next four hours we kept hauling water from the river and putting out hot spots to make sure nothing started burning again.

Eventually it got dark. The fire was mostly out, but smoke was still rising from the rubble. We organized shifts to watch the site throughout the night.

The Surprising End Of The Day

I had been living in the restaurant too. My passport was gone. My computer was gone. Most of my clothes were gone. I was still barefoot and covered in soot. One of the guests looked at me and handed me his shoes.

"Go take a shower and get something to eat."

The shower felt good.

The food didn't. I couldn't eat. Afterwards I sat in the smoking corner at Camp 1, smoking one cigarette after another and staring into space. A volunteer leaned out of the restaurant.

"Dennis! Check-in!"

I replied: "Not funny."

"No really. Check-in."

I still thought he was joking. I was getting annoyed. The camp had just burned down. I knew there was no booking for today.

Then he said:

"He arrived early. Mixed up the dates somehow. You take care of it?"

I grabbed some bedsheets from Camp 1. All the sheets at Camp 2 had burned with the restaurant. Together we walked past the still-smoking ruins. The smell was awful. We made his bed together. I apologized for the situation. He didn't seem to mind too much. He had booked a climbing course for the next day, and before long we were talking about climbing routes and plans for the week. Looking back, it was a strange but welcome distraction.

The restaurant was gone.

The camp was still smoking.

Our first guest was asleep in his bungalow.